


Scenes From a Recovery (1)

by ardentaislinn



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, POV Jemma Simmons, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 08:30:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4953430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardentaislinn/pseuds/ardentaislinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma begins the healing process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scenes From a Recovery (1)

She’d been awake less that 20 minutes.

The anxiety poked and prodded her, making her flinch at the slightest of sounds and touches. She could barely walk, shaking from malnutrition and exhaustion, but she had to get out. Get away.

Fitz’s concerned look turned pained as she pulled back from his reaching hand and stumbled into the bathroom, shutting the door in his face and surrounding herself in blessed, sterile silence. She checked behind the curtain - just a quick peek - before sitting on the closed lid of the toilet and slumping back.

It only took a few seconds before the soft sounds around her began drilling into her mind. She tensed more with each tiny sound. Fitz’s pacing outside the door, the drip from the tap, the rumble of the engine. Unable to shut them out, she did the next best thing and turned the shower on to drown them. The white noise was like cool water on a hot day: relief.

A movement shimmered in the corner of her eye. Jemma whirled, hands up, only to be confronted by the sight of herself reflected in the mirror. Still filthy.

She practically crawled under the shower stream, unable to tell if it was the right temperature. Unable to care. Instead, she scrubbed and scrubbed at the months of dirt caked to her skin and watched it circle down the drain; all evidence of her ordeal washing away. She reached for the shampoo and was dully curious to see her hand shake almost violently. It hadn’t done that when she’d been on the other planet.

Maybe not all evidence was washed away.

She picked up the wooden backscrubber; tested it; snapped it between her hands. The handle was solid. It would make a good weapon. They’d taken all her others.

When she was done in the shower, she wrapped herself in a towel and sat heavily on the closed toilet once again. She didn’t know if she felt better or worse now. The shower had stripped her of the armour that had kept her alive these last months.

Unable to stand and not yet ready to face Fitz again even if she could, Jemma reached for the razor by the sink and began running it over the smooth finish of the backscrubber’s handle. Rough wood appeared, taking shape into something deadly.

It took Jemma less than a minute to make the stake. Too long.

Eventually, now that she had a weapon to clutch in the folds of her towel, Jemma opened the door. Fitz turned to her immediately, his face a picture of worry. But he couldn’t help the way his eyes softened as they landed on her, nor hide his joy at seeing her again.

Jemma had no idea how she’d missed his feelings for so long. They were written plainly across his face.

A mix of emotions flooded her, some good, some bad. Unable to make sense of them, she instead said the first thing that came to her mind.

“Clothes?” Her voice sounded rusty from disuse.

He turned behind him and handed her some folded grey fabric. It felt almost uncomfortably soft beneath her hands.

She took a quick breath, intending to say more, but it stuck in her throat. Instead, she nodded once and closed the bathroom door again.

-

As she began drifting to sleep that evening, she was keenly aware of Fitz’s soft breathing coming from a few feet away. Her hand curled around the wooden stake, clutching it tighter.

It was more important now than ever. Now she had two to protect.


End file.
